


The Gauntlet

by claroso



Series: The Clara Amell Story [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Kids, Warden's kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claroso/pseuds/claroso
Summary: To put it mildly, Warden Clara Amell was having a bad day.





	1. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

To put it mildly, Warden Clara Amell was having a bad day. This morning, Sten had challenged her in front of the entire camp. She’d had to bully him into back down. So she had already been irritated before she had to spend three hours hiking. Then, she was swarmed with cultists worshiping–of all things–a dragon Andraste. And the whole time, Zevran and Leliana were needling each other and giving her a headache. She was cold and hungry from the hike up this thrice-damned mountain and so very, very tired. Although, honestly, she had been tired for months, since she’d left the Circle, so that wasn’t exactly new. Her only saving grace had been Alistair. Her friend had broken up arguments with that fake “naive Fereldan country boy” routine, asking a dumb question to distract the other two. He was a miracle worker. 

And to top it all off, now there was a spirit in front of her, guarding the entrance to Andraste’s Ashes. Clara let Leliana do all of the talking, excited as she was by the whole thing. She moved closer to Zev and bumped her shoulder against his, their armor clinking. 

“Are you alright, _bella_?” He murmured, glancing at her. “You seem tense.”

"A headache, nothing more.“

"Well, if you wish, I think a massage would help you relax.” He winked.

Clara felt a blush stain her pale cheeks. “Later.” Their…relationship, if it could even be called that, was a few month old. They were friends and they had sex. That was it. They didn’t carry on in public, and Zevran had even toned down his flirting since he noticed it made her uncomfortable.

She turned to the group to see Alistair glaring at her. As small as it was, any flirtation annoyed him. While he accepted it, he was thoroughly grossed out by their relationship for whatever reason. She stuck out her tongue at him. He muffled a laugh and looked back at the Guardian.

"…before you go,“ the specter was saying, in his many-layered voice. "There is something I must ask. The path that led you all here was not easy. There is suffering in your past, your suffering and the suffering of others.”

He spoke to each of them in turn, laying the guilt of their past at their feet. Leliana defended her vision of the Maker, to no one’s surprise. Alistair said he’d rather Duncan be alive than him. Then the Guardian turned to her.

“Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?” 

Clara tensed. Jowan was many things, a blood mage, a liar, and a criminal, but despite all that, he was still her best friend. She spent sleepless nights thinking of ways she could’ve helped. If only she had been a better friend, if she had run with him, if— She stopped that thought and answered the question tightly. “Of course. There must have been something I could have done.” 

The Guardian nodded, and looked to Zevran. “And the Antivan elf.”

"Oh, is it my turn now?“ He replied flatly. "Hurrah. I am so excited.” 

“Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of–” 

"How do you now about that?“ Zevran shouted, suddenly tense at her side. 

"I know much; it is allowed to me.” The spirit tilted its head. "The question stands, however. Do you regret–“ 

"Yes. The answer is yes, if that’s what you wish to know. I do. Now move on.” He crossed his arms and looked away 

Clara had seen Zev many ways: hurt, happy, laughing, seductive. This was the first time she’d ever seen him _angry._ She reached out to grab his hand, but he shook her off and glared at her.

"The way is open.“ The Guardian gestured into the next room. "The Gauntlet awaits you." 

* * *

The Gauntlet was terrible. The riddles were easy enough, but the they were in such a mood that they refused to work together. The usually argumentative, but cooperative group spent the entire puzzle shouting at each other over nothing. Leliana was bossy, Alistair mopey, and Zevran was mocking the whole process. Clara herself wasn’t able to focus on anything for long, her thoughts always turned to Jowan and the Circle.

When they were _finally_ done, they walked into the next room and Clara felt her gut clench.

Jowan was standing in front of her, with that lopsided smile she was so familiar with. "Have fun with the riddle game?” 

“You’re not Jowan”. She clenched her hands around her staff. The spirit laughed. Clara never wanted to hit someone so much in her life.

"I didn’t think I’d fool you. But am I really a spirit or is this all is your head?“ It tapped its temple. "Are you in the fade? I honestly don’t know–I am part of the riddle, I am Jowan, I am you. All these statements are true.” 

"And what are you supposed to do? Just make me feel worse?“ She snapped. 

"My purpose is to speak to you and to offer advice.” Jowan said. “You have wondered many times if what happened to me was your doing. Maybe if we had taken a different route or been more prepared, things would be different. But it is too easy to obsess over what-ifs.” 

"No, Jowan! I should have been better, faster! I–“

"Clara, I made my decisions. You must let me own them.” He nodded gravely. “These thoughts will eat away at you if you let them. Forgive yourself, just as I have forgiven you.” 

Feeling something brush by her leg, she looked down. She froze, a spell hovering on the edge of her staff. 

A child stood at her knee, looking up at her. No more than five, the boy had curly blonde hair, cut short around his ears. Chubby cheeks framed blue eyes and a upturned nose. 

The spell Clara summoned faded. “It…” Clara blinked, shaking her head. “It can’t be.” 

At that, the boy ran up to the other mage, who picked him up. He settled himself against his shoulder, sucking his thumb and observing the group silently.

"You must stop ignoring the past.“ Jowan said. "Wounds do not heal when you forget them, they simply fester.”

"Jowan, please–“ She pleaded, voice tight with tears. Faintly, she heard the others speaking, but ignored them.

"You loved him. You still love him. There is nothing weak or foolish in that.” He smiled sadly. “Learn to love again.”

She dropped her staff and stepped forward, frantically reaching for them. “Please, Jowan. My baby, let me hold him, please–” Her hands went passed through her child like the specter it was, her pleading cut off into a sob. They faded without another word, leaving her alone and empty-handed. She crumpled into herself, trying to stop her weeping. Someone gently took her arm and guided her into an embrace. Pressed awkwardly into cold armor, she forced herself to calm down. 

Eventually, she looked up at Alistair. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes as well.

"Are you alright?“ He asked, then grimaced. "Dumb question, sorry, I–”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. We’ve got to go.”

"I’m here for you, you know that right?“ When she nodded, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. Raising his voice, he addressed the rest of the group. "Let’s get going, people!”

They all started into the next room. Clara kept her head down, avoiding her companions’ gazes. Leliana silently handed her her staff.

When they turned the corner and spectral forms jumped out to attack, Clara sighed in relief. She was never more glad to be in a fight.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very happy with how this turned out, but its done, so whatever.

Back at camp, Zevran slung a towel over his shoulder. The fighting today was fierce, and although Wynne had healed his cuts and bruises, his muscles still ached. A quick soak would help him relax. Another thought occurred to him and he grabbed his flask as well. He started to leave, intent on leaving the day behind him.

“Zevran!” Lelianna’s accented voice stopped him in his tracks.

He groaned. Before he could do anything else, the red head ran up, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him towards her tent.

“Mi carina, this is really rather sudden,” He said, frowning. Braska, her grip was tight. “I am flattered, but I am unfortunately–” She pushed him, forcing him to stumble face first into the tent. “–taken. Ah.”

Alistair and Wynne were inside. Lelianna crawled in behind him, forcing him to sit pressed into Alistair to make room. They all looked cramped and very serious.

“So, no seduction, then.” At the glares he recieved, he sighed. “Pity.”

“Look,” Alistair started. “Me and Lelianna were talking about Clara…about what happened today.”

Zevran frowned. “Oh? And here I thought I left the gossiping fishwives in Antiva.”

"We are not gossiping!“ Lelianna exclaimed. "We want to help her, but she refuses to talk to either of us.”

"Probably for good reason.“ He muttered.

"We don’t know what to do next, but we have to do something!”

“Wynne…” Alistair hesitated. “Was she really…does she have a child?”

The mage huffed. “This is ridiculous. I refuse to go behind Clara’s back. If she wants you to know, she can tell you herself.”

"She’s hurting! She’s barely spoken to anyone since the temple!“ Lelianna exclaimed.

"That is her choice. Not everyone will act the way you want them to react.”

“I’m not saying that!”

Alistair spoke over her. “How did she deal with all this before? Was she like this?”

"Yes.“ Wynne paused. "She was quiet, only speaking to Jowan for months. We let her be, let her heal at her own pace. She came around eventually.”

"You didn’t see her today at the temple. She was crying. I’ve never seen her like that.“

"Maybe she didn’t heal at all.” Lelianna said. "The vision said–“

"Oh, so now we’re taking advice from spirits. Fantastic.” Zevran rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, maybe we should listen to the spirit who could _read minds_.”

"Whatever the thing in the temple was,“ Alistair interrupted. "This isn’t healthy. She helped me after Duncan died. We have to do the same for her.”

“You know that they take children away from mages, Alistair.” Wynne said angrily. “That is not even remotely the same.”

"I know its not, I just–she’s our friend. We owe it to her to help.“ 

"Maybe. Or maybe she is owed her privacy.” She stood and lifted the tent flap. “I want no part of this awful meddling. Goodnight.”

A tense silence fell over the group. Absurdly, Zevran found himself wishing for the Crows. No one gossiped or worried about feelings. No one had friends, just fellow assassins.

Alistair turned to him. “Zev, I think you should talk to her.”

He crossed his arms. “You know, I haven’t exactly had the best day either.” He had fought a dragon today and been questioned about Rinna. He was tired and dirty and needed a drink.

“So? Clara needs a friend right now.”

"And after all that talk of not deserving her, now you think I’m the best person? Why don’t you go and be a ‘friend’?“

"Maker, will you get over yourself? Don’t you care about her? Aren’t you her friend? She’s defended you and helped you when you needed it! I don’t give a shit if you’re uncomfortable with this, she needs help!” He took a deep breath and continued quietly. “Now I don’t trust your intentions with her, but like it or not, she won’t talk to me right not. I already tried.”

Zevran rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Lelianna said earnestly, grasping his hand.

He brushed it off, exiting the tent quickly. Crossing the camp, he tried to force down the irritation bubbling in his chest. He ducked down into the tent he and Clara shared. 

When he saw his lover, red-eyed and frowning, any festering feelings disappeared. He forced a smile.

"My lovely Warden, I was just leaving for a late night bath. Care to join me?“

She continued to unpack her bag, refusing to look up at him. "Not tonight, Zev.”

"Ah,“ he caught her hand and kissed it. "You disappoint me terribly. I shall be ever so lonely.”

"You’ll survive.“ She said flatly. Zevran caught a faint curve of her lips and pressed on.

"But the stream near camp is so cold.” He pouted. “I was hoping…”

She chuckled. “Really? Using me for my magic, now?”

"Well, I’m sure I can think of some way to repay you.“ He pulled her closer and smiled. When she leaned into him, forehead against his, a warmth spread in his chest.

"Hmm, alright.”

They gathered their supplies and walked out to the stream. Zevran talked the whole way there. He wasn’t even sure what he said, just nonsense to keep her distracted. When they finally sank into the water–only after Clara heated it–he fell silent. He didn’t know how to start. How do you ask about something so private? So painful?

Clara ducked under the water with a splash, interrupting his thoughts. She surfaced and began lathering herself with soap. He was suddenly struck by her beauty. Her blonde hair clung to her cheeks, darkened by the water. It’s grown past her ears and needed cutting, but her messy locks framed her face perfectly. The sun had freckled her face and shoulders. Sinewy muscle rippled across her back, down the length of her long legs. He usually liked the curvier women, with bosom to spare and soft, curved stomachs. But Clara was skinny, taller than he was, and muscled. It excited him, in a completely new and unexpected way. 

He caught himself and forced his attention elsewhere. Picking up his soap, he started scrubbing off all the dirt and dried blood coating his skin. There was a lot, and for a while it was quiet except for the splashing of the river. 

When they were both done, Clara leaned back against the riverbank and sighed. “Thank you, Zev. I needed this.”

"Of course.“ He swam closer. "If you…if there is anything else you need, or desire, my Warden, you only have to ask.” 

Steam rose from the water, obscuring her face. She did not answer.

"I don’t mean to pry,“ he said quickly, "I thought–perhaps you’d like to talk about it?” When she didn’t respond, he winced. “I’m sorry, I–”

A hand grasped his under the water. “No, it’s fine. I just–” She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve never talked about it.”

A long silence. “Never?”

She shook her head. “Not even with Jowan. It was too much. In the Circle…” She paused. “Extreme emotion isn’t exactly encouraged. We’re taught it will attract demons. Whenever a mage is angry, or sad, or anything other than happy, the templars take more notice of you. One might follow you around. If it keeps happening, a senior enchanter has a talk with you. Not about the actual problem, of course. No, they’d remind you how good we had it in the Circle, how you shouldn’t act up or you’d ruin it for the rest of them. I’ve gotten that talk a few times. 

"So, if you have a problem, you just ignore it. Fake a smile and move on. But that’s so stupid.” Her breathing was uneven. Zevran could feel her hand shaking. “But now, I don’t have to. I can be angry and everyone will just let me.”

"You can feel however you want, mi amor. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to.“

"I think I want to.” She was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt.

He pulled her into his lap, wrapping an arm around her waist. Because of her height, it was an awkward fit, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I got pregnant. At seventeen.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Underneath his hands, she tensed. “When I found out, I was–it was the worst day of my life. Everyone found out almost instantly. The–” She laughed wetly. “the morning sickness was pretty much impossible to hide.”

“The father?” Zevran asked quietly.

"I thought I was in love with him. He was…my first kiss, my first everything. I never named him, and made him believe it was someone else’s. No sense in him getting in trouble too.“ 

"I had no friends after that, except for Jowan. Not that I cared. I don’t think I talked to anyone else during my...” She paused, sniffling. “I thought about…the Circle had the herbs to, well get rid of it. But I couldn’t. Even knowing what would happen.” 

He tighten his grip on her.

"I didn’t even get to hold him.“ Clara whispered. He could feel her tears running onto his neck and shoulder. She shook in his arm and all Zevran could do was hold on.


End file.
